Morning Habit
by Composer of Discord
Summary: Every morning they have shared together, Clark had noticed that without fail, the very first thing Bruce did to his daily pile of newspapers was remove a section of it. Clark wouldn't have questioned this had Bruce's movements not been so decisive, so practiced and single minded, that it was very clear that particular section of the paper was not to be touched. Clark was curious.


Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or Superman, nor do I make any profit from this. This is strictly for recreational purposes.

WC: 1192 (So close. I tried. I really tried to keep it under a thousand)

Warning: Mentions of death

A/N: I'm so sorry that my first contribution for this pairing had to be this. My friend already yelled at my 2am mind for this. With that said, despite the title its not fluffy. More bittersweet than anything. Again, sorry.

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Every morning they have shared together, Clark had noticed that without fail, the very first thing Bruce did to his daily pile of newspapers was remove a section of it. Clark wouldn't have questioned this had Bruce's movements not been so decisive, so practiced and single minded, that it was very clear that particular section of the paper was not to be touched. Naturally, Clark was curious.

At first, Bruce would only do it when he thought Clark wasn't looking. If Clark was the first one up in the morning, which he usually was, Clark would see Bruce's hand subtly move closer to his newspaper as if he were itching to open it up, and remove that cursed section, only for his hand to retreat with regained consciousness a moment later. However, the more mornings Clark spent with Bruce, the less Bruce tried to conceal this little morning habit of his. Now he did it openly with a swift practiced movement of his hand, and the section was removed, folded as to hide the irksome print, and set aside. Bruce would then proceed to read through each section of the newspaper and pile them on top of the supposedly forgotten section. Once breakfast was done, Bruce would leave Alfred to dispose of the pile. That was, until Clark's curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Clark one morning had beaten Alfred in disposing the stack of newspapers. He concealed his nosy reporter vice with his nicer habit of wanting to help Alfred around the manor as much as the other man would allow. When he unfolded the heavily guarded section, he was a little surprised at first, but simply wrote it off as a common section people tended to avoid. Although, as he went through the usual motions of his day, he found his thoughts occupied by the fact that Bruce was not a usual person, and there was a reason why Bruce pointedly didn't touch that section. There was a reason for everything when it came to Bruce, and that reason was never simple. There was always layers upon layers of complexity behind everything Bruce did, as Clark began to develop theories upon the reasons for this particular habit.

The more Clark thought about it, the more apparent the reasons became. There were multiple reasons why, and knowing Bruce, all of them played a role in some form or another, and before he knew it, Clark found himself wandering around a part of the office he hadn't frequented very often because he didn't feel the need to until now. His fingers had a mind of their own as they sifted through the numerous files until they came across one they knew was there.

"Bruce Wayne: beloved Prince of Gotham's Final Hours", was slashed across the mock-up article. The man wasn't even dead yet, but being an infamous billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, meant people liked reading about Brucie Wayne, and many newspapers, like the Daily Planet, would be damned if another paper got the story out before they did. In the file contained pictures, quotes, past interviews from all his super model ex-girlfriends, and more.

Clark hadn't noticed his hands were shaking, fingers gripping around the pages so tightly it was surprising the article hadn't ripped in half. He felt the pit of his stomach drop, and his mind racing faster than ever yet nauseatingly numb at the same time. He pictured those long slender fingers carefully plucking out the obituaries, keeping them carefully folded so the faces of recent failures could not be seen. Every morning, without fail, Bruce did this, and yet when the day came of Bruce Wayne's death plastered across the front page, Clark feared it would be him plucking, ripping the print from existence.

How long had Bruce been doing this? Had he always been doing this because of his parents? Was it after Jason? Or perhaps it was a few years after becoming Batman, the moment when he realized he couldn't save everyone that this had all started? Clark didn't know, and he was never going to ask.

Instead when Bruce came down the next morning, following through his usual motions, his hand faltered upon the missing section Clark had removed for him. Immediately Bruce looked over at Clark, eyes narrowed accusingly and lips thinned only to be met with a grim expression from the Man of Steel himself. Bruce went to say something, yell, growl, spit, but after a second later of failing to say anything, Bruce shut his mouth and returned to his paper as if nothing happened. Even as the words went unsaid, Clark knew them.

 _'You know.'_ Not a question, but a fact.

 _'Yes,'_ Clark would have said, _'I know'_ for simply the fact of knowing was enough for him. He wasn't going to ask, nor make any more assumptions than he already had, and if he held onto Bruce a little tighter than usual that night, no questions were asked. Bruce allowed it with a resigned sigh. He allowed the strong, yet incredibly gentle and warm hand rest upon his chest where his heart beat steadily, strong, and alive. He allowed it for a few moments, until he pushed the hand away, muttering in annoyance about stupid, big idiots disrupting his sleep, and what would Alfred say.

"I'm not dead yet, idiot." Bruce glared over at Clark before the corner of eyes softened a touch. "And quit moping around the house before Alfred blames me for it."

For a few seconds, Clark blinked back, surprised, yet he couldn't help the big smile that spread across his features. That was right. Even though he might come to outlive Bruce, didn't mean the man himself was gone. No, Bruce was very much alive, and Clark knew if Bruce could, he'd outlive him out of spite.

"I love you." Clark whispered softly after he had comfortably wrapped himself around Bruce once more. He loved this man. He loved the man who never watched _It's a Wonderful Life_ because he couldn't get past the title. He loved the one who wrote on his mirror with bright red lipstick because he wouldn't stop drawing foggy hearts on Bruce's, and the one who would only put up with his country music once they've crossed the Kansas border. Bruce was the one who liked his sandwiches cut straight down the middle like how Alfred always does it, and color coordinate everything by order of shade: what was black and what was not. Bruce was the one who always had his back, the first to go rescue him, and the only one, other than his parents, brave enough to scold him when he's being an idiot. Bruce was his teammate, his best friend, the most important person in his life, and no one, not even the Daily Planet, would ever be able to write how great a man Bruce Wayne was. Is.

And softly, at a volume only Superman could hear, Bruce whispered back, "I love you too." The 'idiot' was more than implied at the end of the admission, but that only caused Clark's smile to widen even more.

End

A/N: Thanks for reading. Hopefully the ending made up for it a little...


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